Still don't own Nightwing, or DC Comics. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

/\-n-/\

Dick surfaced from unconsciousness slowly. The first thing he noticed upon waking was how much he hurt, everywhere, like he had been hit by a bus and he was cold. He knew that being out in the rain couldn't really make anybody sick, but that morning he had to wonder. His head pounded and his throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it. His stomach still hurt and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, for the next year at least.

He glanced over at the clock and had to work to bring the numbers into focus. 9:37. That's the latest he'd slept in, well in practically his entire life. He shifted to try and ease the ache in his body and pulled the blankets up tighter to combat how cold he felt. He tried to remember why he felt so sick and then all of the horrors from the day before rushed over him. The patrol with Tim was fuzzy in detail, but the rest of the night stood out in perfect clarity. Reflexively he curled on his side and pressed his face into the pillow.

A soft knock at his door drew him from his misery and guilt. He uncurled and saw Roy standing hesitantly in the doorway.

"Hey." Dick sat up a little.

"You doing okay?"

He shrugged. "Sorta feel like crap."

"That's how you look." Roy smiled.

"Thanks." He sat up and coughed. The room spun a little as he stood.

"Do you need anything?"

Dick shook his head slightly. He passed Roy and stepped into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and regretfully shed his sweatshirt and pants, he shivered as he stepped under the spray.

The warm water didn't wake him up as much as he thought it would, actually it made him dizzier. He slid down the tile wall and sat with his knees drawn up as the water continued to pour over him. His stomach churned and he swallowed back nausea. He leaned forward and vomited bile. He spit and leaned back against the wall. After everything had stopped spinning, he slowly stood and turned off the water. He pulled his sweatpants back on and leaned against the counter.

He wiped away the layer of fog that covered the mirror. His pale reflection stared back at him. He noticed how his eyes were glassy and his cheeks flushed from fever, he noticed the dark shadows that underlined his eyes. Roy wasn't joking when he said that Dick looked about as good as he felt. He shaved just to pretend that everything was all right and pulled his sweatshirt back on.

Roy sat at the kitchen table with the paper open and a bowl of cereal in front of him.

"Don't you ever go home?" Dick smirked as he sat down.

"You have better food."

"You're eating rice crispies." He coughed and felt the pain rip through his chest and back from the force. He struggled to breathe.

They were both pretending that everything was okay and they both knew it. Roy stood and filled a glass of water. He set it in front of Dick. He gratefully took a few slow drinks and slumped in the chair.

"You look like you could use some more sleep." Roy glanced over the paper.

"I don't want to sleep." He muttered.

Dick had a suspicion that if he slept, he'd dream and he had a fairly good idea where his dreams would take him. Roy sighed and dumped two aspirins on the table.

"I don't want to take those." Dick's stomach churned at the thought.

Roy folded the paper. "Is there anything you do want to do?"

He glared at Roy and took another slow sip of water.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Roy saw what little color his friend had, drain from his face.

"No."

"You puke?"

Dick looked up at him. "I'm fine."

Roy leaned forward on the table. "It doesn't take a detective to figure out that you ended up with some sort of wicked cold, flu, fever combination. You can either take care of yourself, or I will do it for you."

"Are you threatening me?" He smiled a little.

"Yes."

"I can kick your ass, you know."

"Not now." Roy smiled, confidant and smug.

Dick stood and gripped the table to keep from falling. "Fine, I'll go back to bed." It probably wasn't such a bad idea anyway, he thought as he made his way down the hall.

He collapsed onto the bed and pulled the blankets up. He gave into the shivering and tried to ignore the pounding in his head. Maybe he should have tried to force the aspirins down, though as soon as he thought that, his stomach clenched painfully. He pulled his knees in towards his chest.

He didn't want to sleep, but he knew he couldn't fight it much longer. He struggled for an hour before he couldn't fight any longer. His dreams took him exactly where he feared they would.

Dick sat in the perp's apartment with the girl in his arms, his sweatshirt wrapped around her. They were the only ones in the room. She looked up at him, pain and fear spilled from her blue eyes.

He shifted and pulled her close. "You're going to be okay. Nobody will hurt you now." He whispered into her hair.

He felt her small fingers clutch his shirt and her warm tears on his neck.

"Why did it take you so long to come?" She whispered over her tears.

Dick's heart skipped a beat and something cold got stuck in his throat. "I'm sorry."

He then noticed her blood soaking through his shirt. He sat her back. Her eyes were closed and she was limp.

"Too late." She whispered. "Always too late."

She coughed and blood ran from her mouth and then she was still.

Dick woke with a start. His heart pounded and he coughed as he struggled to catch his breath. He realized that a cool hand rested on his fevered forehead and his fingers were tight around a smaller hand. He looked over and saw Barbara sitting on the edge of the bed.

She smiled when he turned to her. "Roy called me, said you were sick and wouldn't let him help you."

"And he figured I'd let you." His throat hurt like hell.

She brushed his sweat soaked hair back. "Something like that."

He rolled to his back and sat up against the pillows a little. She handed him a glass of water. His hands shook as he took a drink and passed the glass back.

"What was the nightmare about?"

He looked away.

"Roy told me about the case. It was about that, wasn't it?"

"I don't want to talk about that." His throat was tight, but not from being sick.

"You don't have to be all right, nobody said that you did."

He scoffed. "Perhaps you don't remember my upbringing."

She took his hand and pulled him into a hug that she knew he needed. He didn't pull away. She could feel the heat from his fever and his exhaustion. After a few minutes he pulled away and she let him.

"Here." She took his hand and dumped two pills into it.

Too exhausted to think, he popped them in his mouth and took a drink from the water she passed him again. She took the glass back and he slid under the covers. She held his hand as he fell asleep again. His grip didn't loosen as he slept, so she kept her hand in his.

Roy came in and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Thanks for coming."

"When my dad told me, I already planned to stop by." She sighed. "I wish he wouldn't blame himself."

"I think even he wishes that." Roy squeezed her shoulder.